


Under One Sky, You and I

by golden_wings_of_spring



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Draconic/dragon-like Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Gen, Not Beta Read, Rionwen actively avoids it when she can, Rionwen doesn't know, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Burn, The Greybeards suck, and unfortunately dragon priests, background existentialism, but Mikkel is making it easier, how do you handle waking up in a video game?, is not done linearly, liberal use of dovahzul, no beta we die like men, only cause Rionwen is oblivious, she doesn't have a high opinion of the blades either, there will be dungeon diving, they don't get together for a while y'all, they're condescending and Rionwen has zero patience for them or the way of the voice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26511652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_wings_of_spring/pseuds/golden_wings_of_spring
Summary: An endless sea of azure stretches overhead, sparsely dotted with gently drifting clouds edged in a soft gold from the late afternoon sun. The wind dances through the sparse trees and over the tall, wild grass, carrying the promise of a cold night to come and for all that’s happened since I woke up on that dreadful cart, I start to feel, staring up into that never-ending sky with the wind tugging at my hair, that perhaps everything will be alright in the end.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Original Male Character(s)





	1. Of Wings Unfurled

**Author's Note:**

> warning: near the end of the chapter, a character is set on fire. it's not explicitly detailed but it does happen

“Hey, you two- you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right?”

No. _No_ . No fucking _way_. This is just a bad dream right? The two men across from me keep talking- keep spouting dialog I’d heard far too many times- as I try to not hyperventilate in this rickety cart that shouldn’t exist. There’s shifting next to me, but I refuse to so much as twitch until I’m forced to acknowledge the man to my left when he grabs my bound hands with his. Instinctively I flinch back but his grip is strong, and through the terrified haze in my head, I notice vaguely that his hands dwarf my own as he brushes his thumbs across whatever skin he can reach. 

Suppressing an embarrassing whine, I tilt my head up cautiously to peek at my fellow prisoners. The blond man across from me ~~_Ralof_ ~~ was, less dirty than ~~_the game made him seem_ ~~ I’d have first assumed with hair more ash blond than pale gold and deep, clear blue eyes. Next to him, the horse-thief ~~_Lokir_ ~~ was just what I was expecting with his sweat-stained prisoners’ garb, ruddy complexion, and wide-eyed terror. I don’t try to see the man at the end of the cart. 

Sucking in a quick, shaky breath, I look up and make eye contact with the man hand petting my hands. His eyes are an impressive shade of brown- like fresh dripping honey and expensive whiskey- and the hair falling in his face is a red so soft it almost shimmers pink in the late summer sun. He looks down at me reassuringly, quirking up one side of his mouth in a small smile. My eyebrows shoot up and I stare at him incredulously, his smile grows a little wider as he flicks his eyes to the side of my face and back. I frown at him and feel something move on the side of my head I hadn’t noticed until now. Half a panicked thought forms before I squash it and drag myself back from a growing panic attack- now is not the time for existential anxiety. 

He doesn’t say anything as we’re carted into and through Helgen, but his hands on mine are somehow just comforting enough to keep me from thinking too hard about what comes next. The cart stops and we’re shuffled off. I slant a glance at Lokir as the Stormcloaks are checked off one by one and grimly start a countdown in my head.

 _5-_ “Step forward when we call your name, one at a time.” Snaps the captain in shiny steel armor. 

_4-_ “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

 _3-_ “It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”

 _2-_ “Ralof of Riverwood”

“Lokir of Rorikstead.” It sounds like a death knell. 

The thief protests and the rest of the world fades as he attempts to outrun fate. All I can do is watch as the arrows whistle through the air. Lokir collapses and with him, my hope crumbles. There is only one other person from our cart left to be called aside from myself, I know neither of us are on the Imperials list as we’re called forward to die regardless. My companion answers first. “Mikkel of Riften.”

The soldier nods toward the line in front of the chopping block before turning his attention on me. “And you Wood Elf? Who are you?” I feel the existential panic creep up the back of my throat. I swallow hard against it and blurt out the first thing I can think of that would sound like a proper name for a Tamriel elf. 

“Rionwen.” It feels like I signed my own death certificate.

I’m herded in with the rest of the prisoners to the sound of a pretty promise of returning my remains to a homeland I’ve never seen. I squeeze into the line next to Mikkel and he leans on me lightly, his presence a surprising comfort while the Imperial General lectures the rebel Jarl. The priestess begins our last rites and I distract myself from what comes next by attempting to soak in the calm acceptance exuding from the red-haired Nord. The swing of the executioner’s axe and the thump of a head being separated forces my attention back. Ice grows in my lungs, each breath feels like swallowing thousands of tiny glass needles, a distant but thundering roar sounds from the clouds and the impatient Captain barks over the agitated mummers of the crowd for me to take the place of the corpse at the executioners’ feet.

Time slows and the air grows heavy as I walk to my doom. The thick copper scent of fresh blood fills my mouth and nose as I’m forced to my knees at the chopping block. Another roar echoes across the sky and from behind the headsman’s axe comes destiny.

Alduin is massive, his deep black scales absorb the sunlight creating a stark contrast between him and the drab stone walls of the tower he perches on imperiously. Chaos erupts with horrified cries of ‘dragon!’ but it’s hard to focus on anything but the World Eater before me as he calls a meteor shower with a deafening roar. Eventually, the archers gather enough of their wits to shoot at the dragon who simply opens his gaping maw and Shouts. The force of it flings me away from the chopping block, the impact causing my vision to swim and my ears to ring. Steady hands pull me up and into the adjacent tower already sheltering the surviving Stormcloak prisoners; our escape is decided and I’m prodded up the circling stairs. As we reach the mid-level landing, there’s a thud and the wall explodes inward as Alduin’s snout forces its way in releasing a long gout of flame before he leaves to return his attentions to the people on the ground once more. The roof of the inn next door is already destroyed and I don’t wait for guidance from the Nords behind me, running on instinct and panic-repressed memories, stepping onto the lip of the ragged hole and jumping. I fall into a roll as I land, making room for the others still to come. _I didn’t know how to do that before-_ self-preservation cuts the thought off, else it turns existential and I force myself to keep moving.

The next person to jump down turns out to be Mikkel, who had slipped his binds at some point prior I notice absently as he puts a hand on my shoulder to halt our progress out of the burning building. “Wait a second, little Elf. Let me get those bindings off of you.”

My lips pull back in an unconscious sneer. “Is now truly the best time?” I hiss. “In case you’ve somehow forgotten- we’re fleeing a dragon attack at the moment.”

“Running is easier for you with your hands tied, then?”

I give a wordless hiss in return to the dry response but hold still nonetheless for him to undo the ropes; I rub my wrists for a second then grab the redhead’s hand and tug him toward the hole in the corner of the floor, dropping to the ground floor and slipping out of the burning wall just to find Alduin’s shadow growing larger as he sets his malice on a new target. Mikkel sees the body crouching between the city wall and the neighboring smoldering building and takes over our trajectory. Hadvar grabs a fleeing boy-child and throws him to the crouching figure as we get closer before turning to us. “Still alive, prisoners? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar,” he says to the other man. “take care of the boy, I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

He rushes off towards where I can just hear voices calling orders over the crackling fires and echoing dragon roars; our path takes us down a ruined staircase as the World-Eater lands on the open wall to the left of us, wings draping down just enough to cocoon my crouched form, turning the sunlight a soft grey as it filters through the semi-translucent wing membrane. As Alduin Shouts fire on the fighting Imperials, an irreverent thought surfaces. _Huh, they really don’t do this scene any justice in the game, do they?_ The thought flees quickly as the dragon rises back into the air and Hadvar leads us through the husk of a house to his General who directs us to the Keep with orders to evacuate. Barreling our way through the courtyard, we nearly collide with Ralof, who apparently has the same escape plan as the General.

“Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!” Our Imperial escort snaps. The Stormcloak shakes his head slowly in refute. 

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time. You two, come on, into the Keep.”

Mikkel and I share a look, he inclines his head after the Nord in blue, I give an incremental nod in return and we run off after him. Mikkel enters the Keep first, as I make to follow him a piercing scream sounds behind me, I turn around in time to see Alduin grasp a soldier in his talons, throwing them into the sky. I turn away before the body hits the ground and the World-Eater’s voice follows me behind stone walls.

“ _Your souls will feed my hunger._ ”

I don’t think about how I could understand him.

Ralof is hovering respectfully over a fallen comrade across the room as I enter. He sighs lightly, saying a prayer for the fallen man's soul, then turns to Mikkel and I as we approach. “One of you should take Gunjar’s gear,” He says, looking at the other Nord. “he won’t be needing it anymore.” I nudge Mikkel sharply when he starts to make noises of protest. 

“While I would no doubt appreciate the protection, I doubt that Gunjar and I are of a similar size when it comes to armor.” I reason. “Hurry though, I doubt we are the only ones to have sought refuge in the Keep.” My reproach spurs him into action, stripping out of his tunic quickly to tug the cuirass on. 

As he dresses, Ralof and I inspect the two doors in the room, though I know that neither will open just yet. Footsteps sound from the hall behind the wooden gate as Mikkel tugs on the borrowed fur gauntlets, he lays a gentle hand on my shoulder and pushes me back near the table Gunjar’s body lies in front of then goes to bracket the gate with Ralof. The Imperial Captain steps through the opening door with a subordinate and my Nord companions announce their attack with loud battle cries; the fight is over quickly- the leather armored Imperial falls first and the Captain was then overwhelmed by the two axe-wielding Nords, their deaths barely register through a growing numbness covering my mind. I unfold myself from the crouch I’d fallen into naturally when the fight started to creep closer and poke at the bodies as Ralof asks if either set would be a comfortable fit. I shake my head no. “Unfortunately, no. However, I did find this on the Captain.” I dangle the key from one slender fingertip in offering.

Ralof takes the key as Mikkel slips something under the rope cinching my threadbare tunic. I feel my ears flick in surprise and look down to find a small iron dagger hanging almost innocuously from my waist. “You need something to protect yourself.” He offers at my raised eyebrow. _Well, can’t argue with that, can I?_ Ralof swings the door open then and our escape begins once again. We descend the stairs to the storerooms, avoid the collapsing ceiling, and then of course run into a pair of Imperial soldiers searching for supplies. I sneak away from the ensuing clash of blades to crouch next to the hearth along the back wall, the warmth of the low burning fire seeps into my bones, chasing away a chill I hadn’t noticed. The crackle of the hearth isn’t enough, unfortunately, to block out the sound of the bodies hitting the floor; at a glance I can tell neither of the men’s armor wouldn’t fit so instead I tear myself away from the fire, with more reluctance than probably appropriate for fleeing a dragon attack, to slink around the room in search of potions for the trek ahead of us.

Abruptly, as I open a barrel to dig for the potions, it occurs to me that I have no way to carry the damned things, still, I paw through the straw padding until my fingers brush glass and I stare at the phials hanging from between my fingers. _That certainly explains why it’s so easy to carry so many._ “Found something useful in there, Rionwen?” Mikkel asks from behind me. I raise the bottles to him silently. He chuckles a little and takes them from me to tuck into a pouch near his waist that I hadn’t noticed before. 

“You done then?” Ralof calls from the exit. “We’ve got to keep moving.” He swings the door open and we move on further into the Keep, down into the torture chambers.

The smell of blood and ozone grows stronger, followed by a sharp crack and a pained scream. Ralof must recognize the voice as he curses and sprints down the remaining steps and into the fray. Mikkel stops me with a soft command to wait there before following our Stormcloak into battle. I bite back an irritated huff, but listen to him anyway, knowing he was right and a whisper in my heart says I should trust him. I refuse to think about it at the moment. Mikkel calls me down when the fighting stops to join him, Ralof, and the other Stormcloak warriors they’d saved. 

The red-head shoves a set of Imperial armor into my arms. “Here, this should finally fit, eh? At least until we can get to a decent blacksmith.” My whole body freezes as I comprehend that I’d have to strip in front of these strangers. The existentialism of my situation threatens to crash down on me. I force myself to breathe and tug off the prisoners’ tonic and into the armor. I fumble at the leather straps at my midriff for a moment until Mikkel brushes my hands away with a grin. “Not your normal kind of armor, huh, little Elf?” 

I roll my eyes at him as he smooths the collar down. “No. I’ve never worn so much, leather, before.” Thankfully it seems as though he doesn’t notice my slight hesitation, as just then Ralof calls Mikkel’s attention to the singularly occupied cage and I take the time to tug on the gauntlets and then grimace at the thought of putting my bare feet into leather boots. _Definitely keeping the footwraps on._

“Rionwen, come here a minute.” There’s a moment of unsteadiness as I walk toward the Nord’s calling me when I feel myself fall into a prowling gait instinctively. I shove the thought away, letting my body move naturally, not wanting to think too hard on why it felt otherwise. “Ah, there you are. It’s locked, think you could get it open? We’ll need that gold for when we get out of here.” Ralof inquires, tilting his head to the dead man and the shiny coins spilling from his robe pockets. I shrug at him, but take the proffered lockpick set anyways and kneel in front of the cage to slide in the tension wrench and lockpick. It’s simpler than I’d have assumed it would be to tap the tumblers into position but that might have been because I could hear the faint clicks they made when they fell into position; I ease the door open and frisk the dead mage for any gold still on his person then pick up the ones on the floor, as well as the small spell-tome. 

Standing, I tuck the items aways and let Mikkel herd me after the Stormcloaks down a hall of cells and into the secondary torture room with a collapsed wall that leads into a natural cave system. The path is snaked and narrow but it widens out quickly into a proper cavern that’s filled with soldiers. Mikkel and the Stormcloaks meet the Imperials eagerly, and in the commotion, I slink away from swinging steel and cross the bridge that brings me, unfortunately, closer to the archers attempting to shoot into the mass of clashing blades I’d just left; hiding in my shadowed corner I notice a rainbow glint under one archer’s boot. 

_Oh, that’s right. How, unlucky, for them. Now if only…_

As soon as I begin to wish for a torch, liquid heat pools in my palms. I smother a gasp as I cup my hands in front of my and convince myself to visualize a fire growing in my hands, the heat under my skin responds readily- blazing to life brilliantly with a near-white core and soft orange tongues flickering up past my fingertips. Captivated by the glow of the fire, I lift one hand to try to stream the queerly fluid fire and it moves easily, almost playfully, between my hands. Another flash of sunlight on oil from the corner of my eye pulls my attention back to my surroundings to notice that the knot of fighting men had thinned with two Imperials having fallen as well as one of Ralof’s comrades. One of the archers nocks an arrow, taking careful aim at the back of a blue-armored back and it strikes me abruptly that they were aiming at Mikkel. Unthinkingly, I toss the fire from my hands and the oil ignites instantly. 

The screams of their burning companions distract the remaining Legionnaires long enough for Ralof and Mikkel to finish the fight as the third Nord moves to the side of their fallen compatriot. The fire is dying down, the oil burning hot but quick, and the archers are still screaming, throwing themselves to the ground in a desperate attempt to douse the flames eating their armor and searing across their skin. I vaguely notice Mikkel approaching me cautiously as I sit frozen in place, staring blankly at the still smoldering archers. A soft hand lands on my hair, laying there for a heartbeat before sliding down to my shoulder as he urges me to stand. “There’s a drawbridge up ahead,” He whispers. “Why don’t you see how we can lower it, little Elf. I’ll take care of this.” He doesn’t elaborate on how he’d ‘take care of it’ but we both know so I just nod shakily and focus very hard on not looking down as I pass the bodies on the stone floor and climb the couple steps to said drawbridge and its release lever. My companions appear again just as the bridge falls into place and I pray I don’t look as shaken anymore as we move on, following a stream further into the cave. The nearly inaudible burble alongside the splashing of our boots helps immensely in soothing my frayed nerves, though I know what happened will haunt me for some time to come. 

We follow the stream in silence for a while until it disappears down under a rockfall. Ralof mutters a curse as he directs us down a branching path that leads us straight into a spider's nest. My hands alight with flames once again as a giant spider drops from the ceiling, thankfully the small clutter of spiders doesn’t live very long between all three of our efforts. 

“Hate those damn things,” Ralof mutters as we leave the nest. “Too many eyes, you know?” Mikkel laughs good-naturedly and I nod solemnly in agreement. 

“Where I am from, spiders have the decency to not be the size of a small child.” I add dryly to friendly laughs, and slowly the previously tense atmosphere lifts, bit by bit, as we cross over the stream we’d lost earlier to the sound of Mikkel and Ralof comparing the creatures they’d felled with wild exaggerations. A heavy scraping sound reaches my ears from further ahead of us that’s followed by a huffing growl that echos over the stone walls. “Wait, do you hear that?”

Ralof nods and motions for us all to crouch next to an abandoned wooden cart full of wine that lies next to the stream. “Aye, that’s a bear up ahead, see her?” He points to the far back wall where a portion of the roof had caved in, allowing sunlight to stream in, lighting up both the bear and the small pile of bones she was laying next to. “I’d rather not tangle with her right now, we might be able to sneak by.” He pauses and casts a critical eye over me. I hold back a sigh, already able to guess what he was going to ask. “Or if you’re feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise.”

He hands me the wooden bow and a set of iron-tipped arrows and they feel incredibly natural in my hands. Unconsciously, I drop into a half-kneeling position, nocking and releasing an arrow in one continuous motion. The arrow whistles through the air as I take that heartbeat to puzzle over how I’d done that, striking the bear fatally while I was introspecting. She roars in pain, making an aborted lunge forward but falls quickly with a heavy thud. Ralof and Mikkel rise from beside me with enthusiastic praise and I follow silently. As we walk passed the dead sow, I stop to tug the arrow out gently to preserve the fragile tip, wiping the blood off onto the fur. “Should we field dress it?” I ask absently, eyeing the bear’s huge size. Its head was nearly the size of my torso. “The pelt should fetch a good price.”

Ralof shakes his head. “Aye, it would, but no- there’s no telling who’s followed the same path we did. Besides, we’re still some hours away from the closest town.” I find myself nodding along with him, knowing he was right without really knowing why. “Com’ on, like I was saying, Riverwood is close, if we hurry we can make it before sundown.” Mikkel and I voice our agreement and follow after our blond guide, soon emerging into Skyrim’s bright afternoon sun, and the sight of the expansive sky takes my breath away. An endless sea of azure stretches overhead, sparsely dotted with gently drifting clouds edged in a soft gold from the late afternoon sun. The wind dances through the sparse trees and over the tall, wild grass, carrying the promise of a cold night to come and for all that’s happened since I woke up on that dreadful cart, I start to feel, staring up into that never-ending sky with the wind tugging at my hair, that perhaps everything will be alright in the end.


	2. Along the White River

The reverence of the moment is shattered when Alduin makes himself known once more with a wordless roar as he flies away from the ruined city we’d just escaped. Mikkel throws his arm in front of me and Ralof jumps behind a fallen boulder as the dragon’s shadow passes overhead, we watch silently until he’s gone from view, back into the mountains. Ralof gets up first, dusting his hands on his knees. “Com’ on, looks like we’re safe for now.” A subtle tilt of his head directs us down the winding game trail that extends from the mouth of the cave.

Ralof and Mikkel talk quietly as we walk and I let my thoughts drift for the time, knowing, at least for the moment, we were safe. Skyrim is beautiful in a stark, almost severe, way with mountain ridged skylines defining the seemingly endless sky and the slowly thinning pine forest we were making our way out of. The brightness of the sun belied just how cold the province truly was, the white-capped mountains near to gleaming where they rose to meet the clouds, and the wind that danced through the thickening grass carried the promise of snow before long even just as it was nearing the end of summer. Something dark rises from the mountains Alduin had disappeared behind and the sight of it stops me in my tracks as I realize that what I see are the arches of Bleak Falls Barrow.

“Little Elf?” Mikkel calls back over his shoulder when he notices that I was no longer following behind them. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head no and point up to the stonework looming across the way. “What is that?” I ask despite already knowing. They tilt their heads to follow my line of sight, Mikkel makes an impressed hum as Ralof begins to explain. 

“Ah, that’s the ruin of Bleak Falls Barrow. An ancient tomb built by our peoples’ ancestors during the times Skyrim was ruled by the Dragons.” That, was not something I’d expected him to know. With the way Mikkel was nodding along absently, it might actually be something every Nord knew. “Mostly, the Draugr that still live in the halls of the ruins like the Barrow don’t leave, but every now and then you hear of one wandering in the snow.” He looks up at the arches again, then shakes his head. “Never knew how my sister could stand living in the shadow of it, but well, to each his own.”

At that, I let Mikkel lead me along the cobblestone path I hadn’t noticed we’d been following. We walk for a little while longer before our next distraction appears in the form of the Guardian Stones, that Ralof encourages us to interact with. I creep cautiously behind Mikkel to approach the Stones; the air feels thicker the closer I get to the massive stones, an electric itch begins in my fingertips then spreads up across the back of my hands to race further up my arms. The feeling grows stronger when I gingerly press my palm against the carved surface of the one in front of me before it suddenly fades, leaving me with the sense that I’d been judged and found worthy. The worn constellation pulses a soft green under my hand for a moment, and as I pull away I’m left with the phantom impression of mischievous eyes watching me from the shadows. It’s a comforting feeling.

A loud laugh startles my attention away from the Thief Stone back to my Nordic companions. The laugh had come from Mikkel, who had his hand on the Warrior Stone and a look of pleasant surprise for the soft red glow coming from it. “So the Warrior chose you, eh? Good! Those stars will lead you to honor and glory!” Ralof says with a congratulatory slap to the redhead’s back. 

I glance back at the Thief Stone with a subtle smile, knowing the green light had already dimmed, and step over to add my own verbal applause. Neither man asks about my experience and I’m perfectly content with keeping the attention on Mikkel as we resume our trek to Riverwood. The sun is near to setting as we finally near the walls of Ralof’s home village, I can feel the excitement of the day beginning to settle and leave a bone-deep tiredness behind. He leads us to the lumber mill sat on the riverbank and calls out to his sister; between the noise of the mill itself and the rush of the river, this certainly does seem the best place to hold dubiously treasonous conversations. 

Gerdur’s relief is nearly palpable when she sees Ralof, her concerned fretting over her brother is soothing to watch even through the simultaneous bitter feeling it evokes. ”And who’s this?” She asks, finally noticing Mikkel and I standing behind her brother. ”Some of your comrades?” 

”Not comrades yet, but friends. I owe them my life in fact.” He responds. ”Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials.” 

His sister brow furrows at the non-sequitur. ”Helgen? Has something…?” Gerdur’s sentence trails off in the middle before she nods resolutely and continues. ”You’re right. Follow me.” 

She walks away, calling for her husband as she heads closer to the riverbend, Ralof following promptly. Mikkel looks down at me, raising an inquiring eyebrow and tilting his head in the sibling's direction. I feel my lips twitch as I try to suppress a smile at the increasingly familiar gesture. _I wonder if he knows._ I roll my eyes and brush past him to join Ralof and his sister first. The Stormcloak has a young boy with sandy blond hair between his knees where he sat on a worn tree stump.

“Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?” The little boy rattles off his list of questions breathlessly, the adoration for his Uncle plain on his face as he waits impatiently for the older Nord’s answers. Gerdur tries to affect a stern look but her amusement was still obvious.

“Hush, Frodnar. Go and watch the south road, find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming.”

“Aww, mama. I wanna stay and talk with Uncle Ralof.”

Ralof laughs, reaching out to ruffle the boys’ hair. “Look at you! Almost a grown man! Won’t be long before you’ll be joining the fight yourself.”

Frodnar cheers, promising to keep our little meeting safe and runs off to do as his mother asked just as his father shows up, dusting his hands on his apron. “Now, Ralof, what’s going on? You three look pretty well done in.” 

“I can’t remember the last time I slept.” The blond sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Where to start? The news you heard about Ulfric was true- the Imperials ambushed us outside of Darkwater Crossing. Like they knew exactly where we would be. That was... two days ago now? We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought that was the end, had us lined up for the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.” 

“The cowards!” Gerdur snarls, a sneer pulling at her mouth, baring her teeth.

Her brother just nods, exhaustion pulling harder at his shoulders. Unthinkingly I lay a hand on his back in an attempt to comfort him before he continues on. “They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then. But then, out of no-where, a dragon attacked.” Gerdur gasps in disbelief. “I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there! As strange as it sounds though, we’d be dead if not for that dragon- in the confusion, we managed to escape. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood today?”  
Hod nods. “No one else has come up the south road today as far as we know.”

“Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while.” He mentions, looking up at me and Mikkel momentarily then turns his attention back to his sister. “I’d hate to put your family in danger Gerdur, but…”

“Let me worry about the Imperials,” She snorts derisively at the thought. “You and your friends are welcome to stay as long as you need. Any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Here’s a key to the house, stay as long as you like.” She hands a spindly iron key to Mikkel, waving off his protest of not needing charity. “There is something you can do for me in return then. For all of us. We need to send word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever troops he can. Riverwood is defenseless. If you do that, we’ll call it even.” 

Mikkel doesn’t argue with that and Ralof stands to stumble after Hod in search of a bed. “Are you not coming with us little Elf?” Mikkel asks. 

I hum, nodding absently as I look up at the darkening sky, thinking of the wolves we had to slay before getting to Riverwood. “Yes, I will be along shortly. I wish to find a general trader before they close for the night.” 

“Do you need me to walk with you?”

“No, I can manage on my own, thank you.” I side-eye him a bit sourly. He laughs, wishes me luck, and follows after the Stormcloak family.

For the first time, I find myself alone in this new world. I take a deep breath, feeling it want to turn into a whimper as I let it out slowly, and look back up to the twilight sky. The stars are just starting to appear through the blanket of gray and purple sleeping through the lighter blue skies out west and I feel my magick begin to pulse gently, beginning at the base of my throat the longer I stare at the glimmering sky. I shake myself out of the reverie, not yet ready to face my growing suspicions, and slink out of Riverwood to find the wolves we’d left on the side of the road.

When I find them again I find myself slightly apprehensive about my half-baked plan to field dress the trio of wolves but roll my shoulders and get to work anyways. My body moves on instinct as I make the first incisions, giving me the opportunity to let my mind wander once again, this time turning my thoughts to the Nords I’d made this journey with. Mikkel, with his amiable nature, was the one to talk the most on our escape from Helgen, telling Ralof and I of his misadventures with his older brother around the docks of Riften and how he apprenticed to Balimund the blacksmith for a while and how much he’d enjoyed it. Ralof, in contrast, was quieter and more somber with a quick wit, though he did add stories of childhood adventures with his sister and some of the more entertaining mishaps he was witness to as a Stormcloak soldier. 

Remembering how fondly he spoke of his comrades made me think of what I remembered of Ralof from, before the cart. _After escorting the player to Riverwood, Ralof isn’t seen in-game again unless they side with the Stormcloaks, right? I… don’t particularly want to get that involved._ _If I’m particularly lucky, Mikkel is Dovahkiin, and decisions like that can be on his shoulders._ The thought feels particularly vicious, like I’d wished some sort of ill will on him, and it makes me wince as I pull the last wolfskin free. I sit back on my heels to look at the skinned canines, wondering what I should do with them now that I’d gotten the pelts I’d wanted. There wasn’t much meat on the carcasses, but it still seemed wasteful to leave them for the carrion birds and other scavengers. Deciding to worry about it later, I carefully gather the pelts and wade into the shallows of the White River to wash them of any excess blood; feeling how thick the coats are, has me muttering a curse. _These’ll take forever to dry and I really, really want to sleep tonight. Unless…_ Carefully, I set the pelts down on the riverbank and focus on my hands, calling my magick to rest just below the skin and focus on creating heat without flame. The magick swirls eagerly in my palms, warming until it’s just this side of uncomfortable and I let out a breathless laugh in amazement. _I have magick!_ I giggle to myself, reveling in the still-new feeling. Gingerly I reach out to the wolfskin closest to me and start to comb my hands through the damp fur, hearing the water hiss into steam as it dries; finishing the other two pelts quickly, I bundle them together and head back to pray the Riverwood Trader was still open. 

Luck was on my side, as the door to the general goods store opened smoothly and I stepped into the middle of an argument between the Valerius siblings. Lucan’s head snaps around to me, cutting his sister off to greet me. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open, feel free to shop.” 

_I’m going to regret this, I just know it._ “Did, something happen?”

“Ah, well we did have, sort of a bit of a… break-in.” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head. “But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing, an ornament, solid gold in the shape of a dragon’s claw.”

“I could retrieve the claw for you.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes nearly light up with an odd, desperate hope. It almost makes me wonder what the claw really means to him if he’s that frantic to have it returned. “You could? I have some coin coming in from my last shipment, it’s yours if you bring my claw back. There’s a new bandit camp set up outside Bleak Falls Barrow, if you’re going after those robbers, that’d likely be where they’re hiding.”

“I’ll leave in the morning then. Before that, however, I had some pelts I was planning to sell if I could.”

He gestures for me to lay the bundled wolfskins out on the counter to inspect, muttering to himself as he drags his hands through the furs. “I can give you sixty Septims for all three.” _That, doesn’t seem like much for such thick furs. Fuck, am I supposed to haggle with him?_ “Though, since you’re doing me such a big favor, I’ll give you ninety for the lot.”

“That is acceptable.” _And odd._ “Do you happen to sell any type of head coverings?”

“All I have at the moment is a leather hood, unfortunately, nothing armored. You could try Alvor’s forge in the morning if that’s what you’re after.”

I think about it for a second until I feel my ears flick and that makes up my mind. “No, the one you have will be enough.” He takes five gold pieces out of the coin-pouch he had counted the coin for the furs into and passes the hood and coin-purse over the counter. The coins make a very satisfying clinking noise as I tuck them away. 

Lucan bids me farewell and I nod absently in return as I leave, pulling the hood on as I walk towards Gerdur’s home. The ends tuck nicely under the collar of the armor and keep it from moving much, but seeing Mikkel lounging next to the door in a plain tunic and leggings reminds me that I’d have to remove the armor set shortly in order to sleep, the thought leaves me distinctly disgruntled. “Rionwen? That you? We were starting to worry, you’ve been gone for some time now.” _We?_ “Come inside, Gerdur’s left some stew for you over the fire and a set of clothes to sleep in. Ralof’s already asleep, he’d said he would travel with us to Whiterun but he’d be taking a carriage from there to Windhelm.” 

I don’t really know how to respond to what Mikkel is telling me, but thankfully it seems as though he doesn’t actually require a response as he splays a hand across my back to guide me through the door and into a chair while continuing to muse aloud about what shopping he planned on doing in Whiterun and about possibly seeing if there were any active bounties posted for us to claim. I’m nearly halfway through the, admittedly delicious, stew before it dawns on me that all of Mikkel’s plans involve me. “We?”

“Of course. Unless you had other plans?”

“No. It was, unexpected, of you to accommodate me in such a way.” 

Mikkel laughs at my stilted response, stretching languidly as he rises from the table and stifles a yawn. “Well then little Elf, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow then, best get some rest.”

He ambles over to a large pile of furs on the floor near the cot where Ralof lays dead to the world I hadn’t noticed before, half-hidden behind a bar feature along the far wall of the home. After his head disappears behind the bar I start to work myself out of my borrowed leather armor, taking care to remember how it pieces together to make redressing easier in the morning, and pull on the sleeping clothes that had been left out for me to use. The shirt is very loose and the pants long enough that I need to roll the hems up a couple of times, but they covered me fully and were enough to keep me warm as the hearth dimmed slowly. Cautiously I pad over to join Mikkel in the furs, reluctant to share that sort of intimacy with a virtual stranger but failing to see how I could avoid it. The Nord is laying on his back on the edge closest to the wall, leaving the furs under the bar open for me, trying not to think very hard on our temporary arrangement I slip into the makeshift bed and a sigh of contentment escapes at the unexpected comfort. Sleep comes quickly after curling further into the heavy pelts, a stray thought manages to wisp across my mind before fully succumbing to unconsciously. _Oh, I forgot to tell Mikkel about the claw._

**_18th of Last Seed, 4E 201_ **

The scrape of claws against stone wakes me sometime later, a dog’s whine sounds incredibly loud in the silence of early morning making my ears flick uncomfortably. _Ah. That’s right. I’m stuck here aren’t I. I’m not even-_ I squash the morose thought harshly, still not ready to admit it to myself. There’s a rustling from the other side of the bar and the canine gives a happy bark that’s immediately shushed by Gerdur. I lay still for a bit longer until I hear her make her way passed the bar then force myself out from the warmth of the furs, being careful to not disturb Mikkel, to join our host at the hearth. “Oh, you’re awake. I was just about to let the dog out and start breakfast.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer, combing my hair out of my eyes, decisively ignoring the unfamiliar color. 

“Could you chop some tomatoes and mushrooms while I collect some eggs?” She calls softly over her shoulder, already halfway out the door with the dog. Collecting the garnishes for the coming meal and a knife I do as she asks, finding the mindless act of preparing food a decent distraction from my heavy waking thoughts until the blonde woman returns with a jug and full basket of eggs. We work together in companionable silence as breakfast sizzles over the fire until Hod and Mikkel are roused from their sleep and stumble their way drowsily to the table, missing the amused look Gerdur and I exchange over their slumped heads.

“Stir this for me a moment? I’ll grab the mead, maybe that’ll wake them up.” She chuckles handing me the wooden spoon. I nod, bemused, and watch as she grabs five tankards and fills four of them with whatever mead she’s decided was best with breakfast. _I forgot there’s only alcohol available here._ Frodnar is the next to wake as I take the frittata off the fire and plate it, serving the three sitting at the table and setting one aside for Ralof when he finally awoke until Gerdur ushers me into the remaining chair and sets a plate in front of me. I sit with little fuss and dig into the warm meal. _Huh, this is good. I wasn’t particularly fond of mushrooms, before. What else has changed?_ The melancholy mood from earlier this morning threatens to return at that musing so I turn my attention to watching Mikkel nibble at his food as he nurses his mead.

His hair is still mussed from sleep with half his rose-colored mane pressed flat to his head and the other rising slightly with lingering static from rubbing against the furs all night. As he gains more and more coherency his honey-gold eyes seem to brighten and he starts to eat with more relish. At some point in the night, he had shed his sleep shirt and my belated notice of that has my ear-tips burning in a way I pray isn’t noticeable but know is futile when I see Gerdur’s smirk as she prods her still half asleep husband into full awakeness and set the final tankard in front of her son. I distract myself with my own mug of mead, the beverage wasn’t something I’d ever had before and I was rather apprehensive about it, though knowing there was nothing else to substitute it with and not wanting to be seen as rude has me sipping carefully at the drink. It’s much sweeter than I’d expected it to be but overly so and each cautious mouthful left a slightly bitter aftertaste that lessened with each swallow.

By the time everyone else is fully awake and fed, the sun had started to stream in through the high set windows. Gerdur and Hod leave for their mill and Frodnar rushes out behind them to find his agemate, leaving Mikkel and I alone in their home with a sleeping Ralof. I busy myself cleaning what I can from the morning meal and then folding the furs we’d slept on to store in a large empty chest, hoping that was where they were supposed to be. As I puttered around, Mikkel had taken the opportunity to redress in his armor and sit back down at the table, stealing my still half-full mug of mead. I throw him a disgruntled look that he just laughs at and I turn my attention to the still sleeping Nord, contemplating whether he’d appreciate me waking him before he was ready before deciding he probably wouldn’t.

“You should probably get your armor on soon,” Mikkel says to me as he braids some of his hair back. “We’ll have to wake him soon if he wants to hire a carriage in Whiterun that’ll get to Windhelm in a decent time.” 

_Well, that solves that problem._ He is right, however, so I gather my armor from where I’d left it folded last night and wait for Mikkel to turn his back to shimmy my way back into it, not appreciating the chill that had seeped into the leather overnight. Mikkel shakes Ralof awake as I tuck my hair under the leather hood and re-equip the bow and quiver the blond had given me yesterday before grabbing the leftover plate from breakfast and summoning my magick like I did last night to dry the wolf pelts to reheat it for him. Ralof doesn’t take very long to shake the grogginess of waking and is soon back in his armor and ready to leave after writing a note for his sister, not wanting to risk being seen going to the mill now that there had been time for the news from Helgen to spread.

We’re crossing the north bridge out of Riverwood when I remember that I still have to tell Mikkel about the claw I’d agreed to retrieve. He just laughs at me. “And here I was, thinking I was planning ahead last night.” Ralof joins in Mikkel’s laughter at the light ribbing, I huff at the two but feel a smile tugging at my lips. The journey to Whiterun is filled in a similar way as the trek to Riverwood but with more good-natured teasing that made the time seem to fly by. Eventually, Ralof points out a roof on the horizon claiming that it was the Honningbrew Meadery and that we’d be to the Whiterun stables before noon. The fact that we would soon be parted was slightly sobering, not that Mikkel let the feeling last long and we continued traveling with light spirits until we did finally reach the stables, where it seemed Ralof was in luck to not be the only one to be buying a ride south-east. 

Mikkel and Ralof clap each other on the shoulder as they say their farewells and Ralof envelopes me in a hug before paying the carriage driver and climbing into the back. “May the gods watch over your battles, friends.” He says, leaning over the edge of the cart. 

“Until next time, my friend.” 

“Until Auri-El brings you to us once again.” _That was not what I was going to say._

We stay standing outside there outside the stables until neither of us can see the cart in the distance any longer. Mikkel pulls me into a side-hug after it disappears, I accept the attempt at comfort and rest my head on his chest for a heartbeat as I fought with the unexpected sorrow of Ralof’s separation. I feel my remaining companion sigh and separate myself from him so we could finally enter the Hold capital only to be stopped by one of the Guards outside. “Halt. City’s closed with the dragons about. Official business only.”

I speak up before Mikkel could. “We have news from Helgen.”

“Fine. But we’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

The Guard that had so far stayed silent unlocks the gate and pushes it open with a small nod. The sounds of city life grow louder as we walk along the main road, market vendors hawk their wares over the hustle of late-morning crowds and cries of playing children. _It’s much more, rustic, than I’m used to but, this is nice. It’s something I could get used to I think._ We push our way through the crowd of the central market and post ourselves next to the well to look over the bustling crowds for a moment. “Here, little Elf, hold onto this for us while we’re here,” Mikkel says casually, staring out across the sea of heads as he hands me the bag of coins he’d collected over our escape, it’s heavier than I’d expected but still I add it to the rest of the gold I was carrying. “I’m going up to Dragonsreach to hopefully speak with the Jarl, or his Guard Captain if I can’t. Will you be coming with me?”

Knowing what the Jarl will ask for, and not particularly wanting to interact with the Dovahkiin’s destiny any more than I absolutely had to, I wave Mikkel off to the Cloud District with the excuse that I’d poke my nose into a couple shops in search of supplies for our future endeavors. He nods thoughtfully and points me back in the direction of the main gates, mentioning he saw a smithy on our way in, before assuring me he’d be back as quickly as possible and merging into the throng. I track his progress idly until he reaches the stairs to the Plains District then turn my gaze over the market once more.

Thinking back to, before, is still a fresh pain when I brush up against thoughts of what I’d been forced to leave behind but remembering what I knew of Skyrim was much less so, so thinking over which shops would be most useful to visit before Mikkel and I left for Bleak Falls Barrow was easy enough. I was nearest to Belethor’s shop but I wasn’t sure the Breton would have anything we’d need that I couldn’t get at a specialty store, so that left Arcadia’s Cauldron for anything alchemical, which while interesting wasn’t a pressing need, and the choice between Warmaidens or taking a trip up to the Skyforge for arms and armor; supposedly Eorland Grey-Mane had the best steel in the province, but every time I’d attempted to buy from him when this world was just a game to me the Skyforge smith had such a limited and basic inventory it made me wonder if visiting the famed forge was worth the effort today. _Perhaps another day, if Mikkel is interested._ Mind made up, I slid off the lip of the well and begin to pick my way back through the slowly thinning crowd to get to Adrianne’s forge, only to be distracted by seeing someone enter the building across from the blacksmith. _Oh, that’s right. The Drunken Huntsman. It’s more of a, ah what’s the word, right, fletcher alongside the tavern business. It would probably be best to try my luck there for arrows instead of either blacksmith._ My feet had wandered the steps during my musing, so with a shrug, I push the door open to see what I could find. 

The Elf at the counter looks up and grins, showing a hint of what looks like a fang, as I walk in. “Ah, welcome, Kinsman, how my heart soars to look upon a sister Bosmer, please how can I serve your hunting needs?”

 _Bosmer? Oh, that… would explain much, wouldn’t it?_ “I am, in need of a better bow. The one I have is, adequate, but I fear it might not perform to my satisfaction in my coming travels.” I try not to think too hard on the reaffirmation that I was no longer human as Anoriath’s brother shows me his wares eagerly, asking where I was planning to take my hunting. “My partner and I were contracted to, retrieve an item from an Ancient Nordic crypt. As I said, I worry my current bow will not be enough.” 

The, other, Bosmer near crows his delight at my response. “A worthy quarry indeed! I’ve heard of many an adventurer that wouldn’t dare to tread in those dusty tombs.” He leans over the counter to wink conspiratorially at me. “Then again, they weren’t Bosmer now where they?” He startles a chuckle out of me with that comment and leans back, a satisfied look on his face. “But I do see what you mean. While, nice as your current one is, it certainly doesn’t look like it could get the job done right. Here, try this one instead. It’s of solid Imperial make, not as good as Elven, of course, but the best we have at the moment. If you want to trade-in your current one, I can give you this and two dozen steel-tipped arrows for seventy Septims.”

The thought of giving him the simple wooden bow that Ralof had given me sends a sudden feeling of visceral displeasure down my spine for some reason but I force myself to agree anyway, knowing that it would be impractical to carry both around with me. Elrindir, as he finally introduces himself, sighs wistfully as I hand him the wooden longbow. “If only we could get a bow of proper make here. These, wood, ones are nothing like those in Valenwood made of good, strong bone and sinew.” 

His musing distracted me from sulking over the loss of Ralof’s gift, reminding me that weapons and armor could be made, or very rarely found, of dragon bones in the late game. _I wonder if that was just a game mechanic or if the blacksmiths of Skyrim do actually learn how to shape bone. Something to keep an eye on perhaps._ Letting the thought go for now, I let the other Mer pull me into idle conversation over a bowl of venison stew for a bit to pass the time while Mikkel is occupied in the Keep. We both look up when the side door opens and a Dunmer woman in thick leather armor strides in. Elrindir greets her familiarly, and I take the opportunity to stretch and rise from the barstool I’d been occupying. I give the woman a nod and Elrindir a promise to return and share stories of my adventures the next time I find myself in Whiterun and slip out the door into the bright noontime sun. 

Taking a moment, I turn my face up to the sun and just breathe before ducking into Warmaidens across the street to the small iron dagger Mikkel had foisted off on me in Helgen and buy a better set of paired daggers then making my way back to the market center to wait for Mikkel. Tilting my head back up to the pale blue sky, I settle back against the well and stare contentedly at the lazily drifting clouds and listen to the wind chime through the branches of the Gildergreen in time with the distant laughter of young kids playing at her base. _Yeah, I could get used to this._


End file.
